Moment of Everything
by Blablover5
Summary: This is set Post Trespasser. Only read if you've played the DLC. Even without the Inquisition, did you really think the Inquisitor's adventures would end? What follows are snippets of life after the Inquisition folds as Cullen and the Inquisitor travel Thedas righting wrongs and catching up with old friends. Much funny will be had.
1. Sera

He stood vigil before the slit window looking across the gate, watching the wagons loaded down with the trappings of the Inquisition leave Skyhold. The sight drew a smile to my lips as he was supposed to be packing. His shadow slumbered on the floor, huffing as he chased fireballs, his paddling paws tearing up the blanket that used to be on his master's bed. Softly I closed the door, cutting off the summer air blowing through. Cullen didn't hear, his body leaning closer to the window spying something interesting happening in the courtyard.

Somewhere down there was an agitated ex-ambassador trying to get everyone in line and marked so this would go easier. Too bad half of them were still hung over from the eternal goodbye and good luck celebrations. Why pack the alcohol when you could drink it and save on space? Josephine herself polished off an entire bottle of whiskey, tears dribbling down her cheeks as she belted out a song in Antivan. After the third round of it, she managed to get Bull to sing along, shaking his horns to her erratic beat. It would take another month before we'd be finished with the deconstruction, but every day Skyhold felt more abandoned than when we found it. People who greeted me every morning returned to their homes far across seas I'd only seen on maps. Sculptures I stopped seeing vanished in the night, leaving behind another hole to be filled with crates. And some historian ran around collecting all the banners slapping against stones, insisting they must be preserved.

Sliding onto my toes, I crept towards the ex-Commander far too enraptured in the commotion to hear the Dalish woman slinking around in his office. Holding my left arm tight to my chest, I skirted around his desk, falling into his peripheral vision. He must have been deep in thought as he still didn't turn. My fingers caressed up his back, wrapping around the curls falling across his neck. Only a soft tremor shook his body from the surprise; he was growing used to his wife's soft feet. I stood upon my toes to see over his shoulder, using my right hand as ballast. A dozen horses paraded in what was probably supposed to be a formation, while Master Dennet threw his hands in the air. Perhaps it wasn't going so well.

Cullen sighed, capturing my fingers in his own. "I can hardly believe it's over."

"It's not over yet," I said, my lips whispering against his cheek.

His face lifted in a smile and he turned from the stables emptying of horses to face me. "No?" he rubbed up and down my right arm, "Soldiers dismissed, ravens released, political ties cut. Seems certain."

I smirked, "Has anything I've done ever been certain?"

"Aside from marrying me?" he asked, that sweet but painful smile slotting into place. "No. Not at all." Cullen slipped his arm around my waist, his fingers working in circles around the small of my back. No more Inquisition pajamas dulled my nerves to the touch, through the light cotton I could feel him properly. His eyes dipped down to my left hand - no, not hand, arm. "How is it?"

"Hurts like shit if I bump it, or touch it, or a breeze hits it," I said. He frowned from the truth. It took all my best arguments and promises for him to let me away from the healers so I could confront the Exalted Council. I had at best a few minutes of speech and posturing before I was back by his side, begging for something to kill the pain.

"That remaining mage says it's healing well. Cleanest cut he's ever seen. Probably because it wasn't cut," I mused, lifting the still bandaged limb up. Cullen cupped his hands around my forearm, keeping far away from the throb that died down until I instinctively tried to reach for something I could no longer pick up. Time - everyone kept telling me I'd need it to adjust, and soon I wouldn't even notice I lost the anchor along with my hand. Funny how it was always people with both hands telling me that.

I cupped my husband's face with my remaining hand, fingers parting through his stubble now reaching into beard territory. Something about being free of worry, duty, the Inquisition carried over to his toilet as well. Even his hair was allowed to return to its natural state, the curls wadding around his round ears. "At least this gets me out of having to pack," I joked, waving my stump around. "People are bending over backwards to collect my things and carry them for me."

Cullen chuckled leaning his forehead to mine and closing his eyes. His voice grew even softer while we marched away from the Winter Palace. I'd expected anger at my decision taking away his sense of purpose, but it seemed to bring forth the exact opposite. He looked free, a smile lifting his cheeks whenever he'd turn to find me by his side, struggling to stay on the damn horse and keep my stump as far from anything as possible.

"I am afraid I do not have that luxury," he said, gesturing to the bookshelves still half full. Crates were overstuffed with some of his office - the bric and brac of leading an army being packed and sent to whoever could make use of them. Josephine found buyers for our used things before we'd even left Halamshiral.

"Wasn't this all supposed to be loaded up before tomorrow?" I asked, prodding my foot against a crate and hearing the hollowness.

Cullen lifted one shoulder and smiled slyly. "I've been preoccupied," he said, "with my beautiful wife."

Laughing, I leaned my shoulder into him - the crush of his old leathers more forgiving than the armor now secured in a special box. "That's no excuse," I said, even as I kissed his lips for the dozenth of dozens time since returning to Skyhold. We abandoned the pretense of formality, no matter how weak it had been, stealing moments every chance we found - both aware of how close we came to almost losing everything. Cullen wasn't the only one with night terrors anymore.

Wiping away the worry, I smiled and slipped away from his warm arms. His desktop was nearly cleared off save three boxes. One was open and stacked high with the books and papers that used to fill it. The other box looked much the same as the rest littering Skyhold, worn wood hammered quickly in place, but shredded straw covered whatever lay inside. Curiosity was one of my worst vices, and I dug through the straw, trying to find whatever was inside.

Cullen turned away from the window to catch me, "That isn't necessary! It's nothing important for the..."

"What is this?" I stuttered, trying to lift up the garish, golden object. I only managed a few inches before it slipped from my fingers, clanging against the bottom of the box.

Sighing, Cullen reached into the box. "There's no reason for you to see this." Even through his protestations, he still unearthed it for me, sliding straw away to reveal a massive mouth gawping at me. It looked like someone gilded a bear forever imprisoning it in a yawn. Fur strode down the back of it, reaching like a mane around the back of the head. I eyed up the monstrous thing cupped in his hands, then turned to my husband. For good measure I did it again, emphasizing my need for an explanation.

"It's a helmet," he said, shifting it in his hands.

"That's a helmet?! I thought you beheaded a statue."

He flattened his lips from my tone, "It was to go with my armor. The fur's the same as the pauldrons." To show it off, he ran his fingers down the back, fluffing up bear fur far less ragged and sun bleached than what he'd worn every day.

I eyed up the helmet, slightly terrified it might surge forward and take a bite at me. "Do...do you often wear animal heads upon your own?"

Cullen shook his head, glaring at the monstrous thing, "I didn't purchase it. As I said, it came with the armor."

Growing more bold, I reached out, running the edge of my pinkie along a tooth. It was colder to the touch than I expected - though, given my life, feeling hot breath and the pulse of blood wasn't beyond the reach. "I can see why you never wore the thing. Casualties from people falling over the battlements in laughter would have been staggering."

He snorted, rolling his eyes at me, but placed the helmet back in its box, shredding even more of the straw overtop to hide it.

"If you didn't buy it, then who did? It came with your armor, right?"

Now he shifted on his shoes. "I spent much of my life in the order," he began, not explaining anything. "You're given the uniform, you become the uniform, there's no need for other clothing. The armor is for life," he sighed, his head tipping down. So many possibilities lay before him, and - like a child in a candy store - a part of him was terrified to try any for fear of spoiling all. He wasn't the only with more choices and questions than decisions, but at least we could stumble together.

Rubbing his shoulders, I pulled those amber eyes to me. "It was Cassandra, wasn't it?"

"She said it looked intimidating," he said, his fingers rolling across my own. I chuckled at the idea of the imposing Seeker tossing him the helmet and insisting he put it on to check the fit. Maybe she even insisted there be a portrait done of him wearing it all, for posterities sake. Oh, I'd pay to see that.

"Not keeping it with the rest of your things upstairs?" I asked, jerking my head up to his loft where absolutely nothing was packed, not that there was much to begin with. A few trinkets from Mia, a chess set from Dorian, and a couple personal books. He almost traveled lighter than me.

Cullen chuckled, "You're not getting me to wear it, don't even try."

"Hm," I picked at the box's edge, worrying out a splinter, "I was thinking you in the helmet, your surcoat, and nothing else." I ended with the cheekiest grin I could manage, and slowly eyed up and down his body.

"Surcoat yes, helmet no."

"That ruins all the fun," I cut back, throwing my hand and stump in the air. He smiled, catching my fingers and pulling me towards him for a kiss.

"It's what I'm known for," Cullen whispered in my ear, his voice soft with desire. Slowly, he drew his fingers across the indentation of my collarbone and down my flimsy tunic.

I was about to give in to his misdirection when something about the third package caught my eye. It wasn't the same crates as the others, and was wrapped in a mishmash of yellowing papers coated in ink drawings. Tacked to the edge was a tag with a drawing of bees on it. "What's that?" I asked, pointing to the new curiosity.

Cullen sighed, his exploring fingers landing upon my hip as he turned to see what I pointed to. "Oh," his voice fell flat and noncommittal, as if he had to speak to a mess of nobles about his bedroom activities, "it's a gift."

"A gift?" I reached over to the box and picked it up. It was lighter than I expected, the paper crackling below my fingers. "Why haven't you opened it?"

"See who it's from," he said.

I twisted around the box until the tag flipped over, revealing the letters SeRa. "Ah," I said, nodding my head in solidarity. "It can't be that bad."

Cullen blinked, "Then you open it."

"But it's your gift," I said, stumbling right into his trap. He probably even left it out right there to snare me. Damn that handsome and devious brain. "And it wouldn't be right for me to open presents specifically meant for you."

He smiled, a cruel one he would pay dearly for later. "We are married, what's mine is yours and all that. So please, go right ahead. 'It can't be that bad.'"

I knew when I was licked. Sighing, I inched the gift closer to the edge of the desk and pushed my elbow on it to hold it steady. With my hand, I tore at the shreds of paper, small doodlings of our friends and enemies scattering in the wind. Cullen stood behind me, his hands cupped around my stomach as he watched - and in case he needed to yank me away from whatever was inside.

Steadying myself, I ripped off the last of the paper and glanced into the box. Plain white cloth rested inside, folded in the shape of a triangle. Confusion pulled my eyebrows as I picked up the edge. "What is..." I began, twisting back to my husband.

He looked just as lost, his own fingers running along the fabric when realization and then horror rampaged across his face. "Is that my small clothes?!"

I had to twist my head to the side, but sure enough, there were the two holes for the legs and the folding flap in the front. I wasn't certain how he could tell the difference between his and anyone else's, but human's underthings were a whole new world for me.

Cullen yanked them from my hand, holding the pair outstretched, "How did she even get them? Why?"

In the light, I caught the why. Snickering, I pointed that he should turn them around. Mid-rage and confusion, Cullen did as I ordered and his jaw fell open at the rather lovely embroidering across the ass part that now proclaimed the owner to be Mr. Inquisitor. Sera hadn't lined it up well, so the -tor reached around the side and she added a few little yellow and green flowers that butted up against the fly.

He flipped his small clothes around a few more times, as if that would somehow make the embroidery vanish, then he leaned over me to look in the rest of the box. "There are even more in here," he dumped the gift out onto the table scattering the rest of his underthings all now marked to proclaim him either Mr. Inquisitor, Lavellan's, or Hubby Wubby. The color of the thread changes, sometimes mid-word, but the handwriting was all the same massive loops that leaned to the left. "Maker's sake," he muttered, trying to gather it all up. "It's every pair but the one I'm wearing."

I leaned over, staring at his backside, "Are you certain she didn't get those?"

Cullen's hand reached towards his own ass, as if terrified the Red Jenny somehow made off with them. Smiling, I picked up the first pair - the embroidery a lovely green.

"Why must that woman live to embarrass me?" Cullen sighed, trying to wad up all his small clothes into the tightest ball.

I shook my head, passing the last one back to him, "I don't think she is."

"She stole my only underthings and then wrote upon them. What else would you call that?!"

I shrugged, "She did the same to me."

"What? Really?" Now he glanced down the back of me, as if he could see through clothing.

I nodded, "After Verchel. She said it was good to have one's name on your underthings so no one else would steal it and sell 'em. I think, for Sera, this is a sign she likes you."

Cullen grumbled a few curses under his breath, but his mood broke. This wasn't a prank of hers, but a true gift from the heart. It made as much sense as anything with her. After a moment he looked up at me, "I've never seen your name upon any of your...under clothing." Over two years together, now married, and he still blushed. My stomach fluttered from how damn adorable that man could be.

Smiling, I tipped my head, "She said she couldn't get Inquisitor to fit on the ass of my small clothes, so she stitched it onto one of the undershirts. I would only wear it in the field, for good luck. It seemed to help," I shrugged at the inanity of my personal ritual. "I always came back."

"Yes, you did," Cullen sighed. Dropping his ransacked underwear to the side, he pulled me into his arms. I reached my arm around his shoulders, laying my head against the lack of fur, as he wrapped his fingers behind my back. "I suppose I should thank her, then. To be without you..." His voice fell away, terrified to voice the fear that nearly broke both of us.

Stepping through that mirror as my hand burned through my body was the hardest thing I'd ever done. Not because of the Qunari forces I faced at the other end, but not knowing if I would never see him again. I have no idea how he managed to let me go, but when I stepped back out he gave me the tightest hug imaginable, joy blinding him to the fact my arm was now gone.

I caressed his cheek, following the trail of my fingers with a kiss. "Never, in a thousand years did I think I'd..."

"Marry a shemlan?" he interrupted, smiling softly, sadly, sweetly.

Pulling those amber eyes to me, I smiled, "Find you."

He pressed his forehead to mine, his voice a breath away as he whispered, "Nor I you." We sealed our sweet everythings in a kiss. There were still so many problems ahead, things to solve, and, at the moment, Solas seemed the least of them. Cullen took the dalish part of me in stride, but he knew we'd have to tell my clan at some point. And I could tell it ate at him, the worry festering in his gut of how they would deal with it. It didn't touch me, no matter how my mother or anyone else reacted, I knew in my heart I had my husband and he'd stand by my side through it all.

Glancing down at Sera's gift, an idea took hold. "We're likely to never return back here," I said.

Cullen sighed, as if preparing for another melancholy "Those were the days" drunk speech, but the fire in my words stumbled him. He twisted his head, waiting for me to continue.

I caressed my fingers across the desk. "Be a shame to pack up and leave without having one more go on it." Now he grinned wide, the dark mood shattering. "For old time's sake?" I asked, holding out my hand. Cullen placed it upon his shoulder, then slid both his hands under my butt. Lifting me easily onto the desk, he pushed aside the boxes with one hand - his dreaded helmet cracking to the floor. But Cullen didn't notice, his lips dancing over the exposed flesh on my neck and chest as I lay back.

My right hand clung to the back of his neck, twirling around that curly hair. His passion broke for a moment and he blinked above me, "I love you."

"I love you too," I said, "now let's get to the sex."

He chuckled at my impertinence, his hands moving with much more purpose than our first time. Together, we slid further along the desk, until he put both our weight upon it. I reached up to try and lift the end of his shirt when a soft crack reverberated below us.

Cullen paused, his eye widening even as he shook his head. "No, that can't-"

The ground fell away, both of us crashing into each other. The back of my head smacked into the desk, and Cullen's forehead crumpled against my sternum as the desk's legs fell through the floor. The floor someone took the time to weaken.

"SERA!" we both screamed.

Somewhere in Skyhold, her giddy laugh carried for three days.

More to come...


	2. Dorian

A deluge blackened the sky, turning what was supposed to be a quaint walk in the forest into a run for our lives. My hand stretched out before me, searching blindly for cover. I tried to shout over the cacophony of an ocean of rainwater plummeting through cracking branches, but I couldn't even hear my own voice. I doubted he did.

Mud slipped under my boots, almost dragging me down to rend my ankle. I reached forward to steady myself, when my right hand snagged against the tent. My infamous luck saved me again. Working open the flap, I rolled inside, the dog fast on my heels. My husband was a few moments slower, sliding in from the waterlogged ground worms burst free to escape drowning.

Our tent was just large enough for the two of us to stand up if we all but climbed on top of each other. For the moment, I staggered around, doubled over, sucking in lost breath from the running and the pounding the rain beat against my body. Cullen stood, trying to wring water out of his curls so he could see, only to have the soggy locks flop back upon his forehead.

Laughter gurgled in my throat as I watched him sneer through rivulets of water dripping down his face. I knew I looked even worse, my hair splattered across my back like a hood, the shock of cold turning my skin wan. He twisted his head at my snorting, unimpressed, "Why is this humorous?"

"Because you look like a nug dropped into a bathtub," I said, giggling from the image...and a very unforgettable Satinalia with Sera, Varric, and Dorian. Vivienne never did find out how we got it in there.

He sighed, stretching his head up and nearly skimming across the canvas bowing from the still pelting rain. The tree cover kept some of it off, but not enough. It was going to be a long night.

"This was your doing," he said, wagging a finger at me.

"I can control the weather now? I keep acquiring amazing powers without realizing it," I smiled, stepping closer so I could stand.

Cullen snorted, his breath hot enough to hiss out steam. "You swore those clouds would be no trouble. Old Dalish trick." I shrugged, they'd looked not so terribly ominous when we started on our walk. "And you," now he turned to the mabari shaking for the third time across what had once been our dry belongings. "You were no help at all."

The dog only panted, his tongue lolling up at his master. Cullen sighed, then ran a hand along the dog's head, getting a lob of a tail wag for his attempt at discipline.

"It's only a bit of water," I said, unknotting my cloak. It plummeted against the ground with a slap loud enough the dog barked from the noise. I looked down to see how much rain had soaked through my clothes. I may as well have not even bothered with the cloak - my tunic fully adhered to my body, mud climbing all the way up to my knees. "Ugh, I think the rains soaked all the way through my skin to bone."

Cullen snapped up at that and the cruelest grin twisted his face. "It's only a bit of water." I'd have wagged my finger at him, but he let his own coat drop to the ground. His shirt was washed to being nearly transparent, suckered to reveal the twists of his stomach muscles and chest. I could even see the little v line where hip met the really fun part from his pants sliding too low. I really needed to thank whoever talked him out of armor - perhaps with a fruit basket.

He leaned down to pick up his coat, shaking as much of the dirt out as he could. Giving up rather than being satisfied, he hooked it upon the support pole bypassing through the tent. It might actually dry in a day or two. I snatched up my own, and tried to wad it up with my hand to wring out some of the water. "We'd best get out of these clothes before we freeze to death," I said, haphazardly twisting to face the wall and toss my own cloak against the pile of luggage.

When I turned back, Cullen's warm hands slid across my exposed shoulders, his body pressing against me. Before I could voice a word, his lips burned across mine, the heat from his body and breath revitalizing my frozen veins. His one hand reached back, trying to comb through my splattered hair, while the second slid downward, cupping my breast and easily taunting the frozen nipple before landing at the hem of my shirt.

He kissed me once more, then leaned back and smiled, "I think I can help with that." Gripping to the hem, he lifted my shirt off over my head, cold biting into my skin in its wake. But it didn't last long. Cullen's warm hands caressed up and down my exposed flesh - certainly enjoying the breast part, but taking a few side trips down to the stomach and the prodding of my hip bones. He was far better than any brazier in a lofty castle, as he leaned down, pelting me in warm kisses. Beginning around my collar bone, he worked down and across my chest - pausing after a kiss to warmly blow across my skin. Goosepimples erupted on my arms every time, a soft chuckle his response when he felt them.

It was when he dipped down, his lips trailing under my breast, that I couldn't stand the exquisite torture any longer. "No fair!" I cried, reaching forward with my hand to grab the bottom of his shirt.

Cullen rose, a wicked smile on his face as he helped me free his body from the confines of the translucent fabric. His pale skin glistened from the water, more tempting than any ripe fruit. I locked my left arm around his side, pulling him close, while my hand explored up and down his chest. A scar from a dagger veined across his right pec and down the sternum. Pockets of flesh muddled and scarred after mage fire marked the left side of his stomach. And a discoloration in the shape of a star rested upon his hip, just peeking over his pants. I adored every mark, every scar, because they were his.

He caught my hand, holding it tight to the scar just above his heart. I smiled from the touching move - softly brushing my lips against his, then I smirked and - with my stump and a little help from my foot - yanked off his pants. Cullen gasped, chuckling, "Now who's not playing fair?"

Wrapping both arms around my waist, he lifted me off the ground, just high enough I didn't quite but almost smacked into the top of the tent. He pulled me close for a kiss, then threw us both to the bedroll taking up most of the tent's space. My back sank an inch into the blankets then struck against frozen ground, but my body was too far gone to notice the pain. Cullen leaned above me, his arms pressing in beside my stomach, but remaining just high enough I could only kiss him as he dipped his head down.

"I thought you were mad at me, for the rain I somehow caused," I said, peppering his lips with every kiss I could manage to reach.

He rose back, breaking contact and digging a knee beside my hip. Folding his arms, he glowered, "I am." Then he shrugged, the smile returning, "I suspect you'll have to make it up to me." Picking up my feet, he slid off my boots, only shaking his head at the lack of socks. He was lucky I yet had the boots. Cupping my foot, Cullen dug the heel of his palm deep into my arch, both of his hands working away a week's worth of walking.

"By all the...you know what a woman needs!" I cried, losing myself to the foot rub.

"I hope that's not all," he said, gently placing my feet down and dropping to his hands. Crawling towards me, I wrapped my hand around his face and my legs enveloped his waist.

"What else do you have on the menu?" I asked, rubbing my massaged feet up and down the muscles of his back.

"Hm..." Cullen drug it out, his lips dancing across my neck as his fingers drifted down to my pants, finally about to finish the job.

"Hello, friend!"

Cullen's fingers froze, his eyes widening from the voice stampeding out of thin air. I sat up at the intrusion, almost smashing my forehead into my husband's nose. "What was..." he started.

"I just got back from the most dreadful party. You wouldn't believe how abysmal it was. Barely anyone was killed, the cheese course barely lasted for three settings, and they tried to pass the rehydrated droppings of desiccated rats off as wine."

"Ugh," I dropped my head back against the bedroll, "Dorian. That man has the worst timing in Thedas."

Cullen whipped his head around, "Dorian's where?"

I shook my head, "It's the sending crystal in my pack. Don't worry, he'll realize I'm not there and give up soon." I smiled to assure my now perturbed husband, running my hand up his arm - savoring the warmth of his strong skin.

Cullen glared at thin air, probably wishing he could reach out and strangle Dorian, but dipped down for a thin kiss. As my fingers reached around his back, cupping his ass, the heat of his lips increased, our tongues having a little chess match of their own.

"Mae sends her greetings - when she's not dealing with the incompetence of the Liberatum," Dorian's voice echoed from my leather pack beside the now slumbering dog's head. "Would you believe one of them actually managed to set himself on fire? We have no idea how. He only knows ice spells."

"Just ignore it," I whispered. Cullen tipped his head, his lips working back down my neck. There was still the matter of my pants that needed addressing. I wrapped my legs tighter around Cullen's waist, savoring the throb of him against me. It seemed to revive the broken mood as he reached down, about to finish the job.

"Hello? Are you there?" Dorian called out, his voice slightly tipsier than usual.

Cullen paused, but I grabbed onto his fingers to move this along. Surely, Dorian would get the hint by now. A glint caught in my husband's eye, and rather than yank my body free, he circled his finger around the first button. "You're a cruel man," I whispered, loving every excruciating moment. He smiled, carefully undoing the first of five.

"Oh, of course, I understand what's happening," Dorian continued. I squirmed, trying to drive Cullen's fingers on. "Performing your wifely duties, eh? Say no more. Well, continue to say no more."

Cullen's growl shattered the air beside my ear, "I will rend him from ear to ear."

"He's got to be done now," I said, mentally planning a very long and heated discussion with the mage in the morning - preferably while he's still hungover.

"Why don't you throw the crystal outside for now?" Cullen started, waving his hand towards the torrential flood.

I shook my head, "If I touch it, the connection will catch and Dorian will know I can hear him."

"So, put the entire bag outside," Cullen bargained.

"The pack full of maps and ciphers we need to find the missing clan?" My reasonable logic only drew more sneering from my husband, but I ran my fingers across his cheek and pulled his lips to mine. We both paused a breath from each other, waiting for Dorian to begin again, but the drunk mage finally seemed satiated. Perhaps he found someone else to torture back in Tevinter.

Reaching down with my arm, I unhooked my own buttons, each one fighting me without my stump to help. Cullen's hand drifted down my body, caressing his favorite scars on my skin and thrumming his fingers against the indentation on my hips. Finally, he leaned against my pants, letting me get all those damn buttons off. While his thumbs stroked my still frozen nipples, I wiggled out of my pants, kicking them off the bedroll.

Cullen slid off his elbow and rolled fully on top of me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, merging our body heat together, my skin tingling at every inch he touched with his own. His hips pressed into mine, while the fun bits prodded just outside me. Just a bit of wiggling and...

"That should be more than enough time to finish. Your templar's getting up there in age and they say stamina's the first to go." Shoving Cullen off, I jumped up, snatching my pack so forcefully the dog perked up. Dorian spent the rest of the night talking to the rain while my old templar and I tested the limits of our staminas.


	3. Varric

Birds swooped through the white stones of the roof reaching so high into the sky they butted against the breach. I craned my head back to try and spy the tail coloring on a hawk when I heard a gasp from the man beside me. He broke his hold on my hand that he clutched the moment we got off the boat. His eyes only glanced once towards the floating island off the harbor, a hollow shudder shaking him. After that it was straight to Hightown, when we didn't get horribly lost in Darktown, wander into a cave, kick a few spiders the size of nugs, wander into another cave identical looking to the first, and find ourselves on a shore overlooking the waking sea.

"We don't have to go inside," I whispered to him. The massive door was cracked open, letting people in and out at their leisure. A guardsman stood watch, tipping her head and smiling at the people and waving cheery greetings. This felt so far removed from every memory he told me of Kirkwall I feared we got the city wrong.

"No," Cullen shook his head, struggling to lift a smile to his cheeks, "I am fine. And we need to...we can enter. It will be fine."

Pressing my fingers into his palm, I shook our conjoined hands once then pulled him through the door. "Feenhedis," I cursed, overwhelmed by the massive splendor stretched above my head, "this place is three times the size of Skyhold."

"It's not that impressive," Cullen muttered, shifting on his shoes. He glanced around the staircases filled with milling Marchers in various economic states of dress. Even a few elves in familiar alienage garb hovered beside a statue of a bird with its head missing. Someone put a box on its neck and wrote "Caw" on it in bright red paint.

"They've changed the carpeting," Cullen mused to himself before shaking his head. "If he's here, he'll be in the back."

Having a job before him, even if it was one he partially dreaded, drove Cullen forward. Still clinging to my hand like a pair of indecent lovers, he pulled me up those re-carpeted stairs and down a hall. More guards milled to the right, shooting the breeze - a pair even played Wicked Grace smack dab in the middle of an ante chamber. We never got that relaxed in the Inquisition, I thought. Then again, if it wasn't an archdemon's fire, it was demon armies, or empress assassinations. Much easier to kick back and relax when your biggest concern is a merchant stubbing his toe on the way to your gilded throne.

Cullen drew us up beside another door - this one shut tight while a man kept sentry outside threatening all passerby's with his mighty clipboard. My heart suddenly ached for an Antivan ambassador and her quill of doom.

"State your business," the clipboard said, running his finger along a line of lists.

"We need to see the Viscount," Cullen answered.

"As do most who come here, unless they're trying to find the bathroom. For what purpose?"

"That's private," he said, those golden eyes honing in on the man's weak spots. Too bad bureaucracy had none.

"Bully for you, Sirrah, but that doesn't gain you entrance."

Cullen flipped back to me, but I held up my stump. I probably could have waved it around and pulled out the Inquisitor card, but judging by the abundance of over-importance wafting off the man, I wasn't about to get anywhere. Besides, I wasn't the one who was once the Knight-Commander here.

At that moment, the door cracked open and a familiar sneer poked through the hole. "His eminence requires another set of clippers because he, once again, shattered a pair trying to cut through the crown." Bran glanced up from his man to catch my eye. Somehow his face managed to fall even further than from the clippers incident. "Oh, it's you. I'm assuming you are not expected."

I shrugged, "It's hard to say in these exciting times."

The provisional viscount sighed, then stepped back, holding the door open. "Just...don't drag him off on any adventures. We have much to accomplish today and he's in the mood to do it - for once."

Dropping my grip on Cullen, I nodded at the man with the clipboard and slipped through the door. My husband followed behind, whispering, "I've never actually been in here before..."

This throne room made mine look like someone hauled up a chair from an abandoned cellar and tossed it to the back of the room - oh wait, that was what we did. White marble reached three stories above our heads, carved in the Kirkwall seal everyone seemed to wear to end in a seat no butt currently filled. Instead, a much more padded and comfier chair sat at the bottom of the empty dais. The Viscount even had a footrest placed before it, though it was currently filled with papers leaning precariously on edge. Beside him stood a woman with a shock of red hair folded back into a loose bun. She wore typical guard armor, but it was her bearing that yanked me back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes when a Seeker held a blade to my throat for killing the Divine. I would never want to cross Cassandra, not even now, but this woman scared the soul from me. The dwarf sitting on his armchair throne barely paid her any mind.

"No," she said, shaking her head and sneering.

"You can't say no to the Viscount."

She folded her arms across her chest, "I believe I just did. No."

"They'll barely even notice it's missing," Varric's wheedling died away as he turned to catch me walking across his carpet. "Andraste's tits, what are you doing here?" he shouted.

"It's good to see you too, Varric," I smiled, pausing my gait then gesturing around. "Nice throne room you have, very cozy and intimate."

He jumped off his chair throne, knocking over the tower of papers and ran towards me. Gripping palms, our handshake turned into a half hug, then a full one. "I keep trying to sell off parts of it, a little fruit stand would do wonders over there, but the council won't budge," Varric said waving his hand around.

"Ever feel the urge to stand here and shout echo at the top of your lungs?" I asked, glancing around at the massive space. It was so wide, a small terror crawled up my spine from the insignificance it radiated. How could anyone feel like anything other than a spec in the world's eye in here?

Varric winked at me, more than likely his echoing was to pass the time or piss off Bran - perhaps both. Then his eyes rolled up to Cullen. He twisted his head to the side, then covered one eye, "That can't be. No way."

"What?" I turned to my husband, watching to make certain he didn't suddenly combust or something. The stories of Kirkwall's blood magic were probably exaggerated, but...

"There's no way that's Curly. No armor, no sword, and no sneer. What'd you do with the real one?"

Cullen grumbled, folding his arms and glaring at the sky.

"Oh, there he is," Varric snorted, then turned back to the red haired woman. "Shit, Inquisitor, this is Aveline - the scariest fucking guard captain you'll ever have the displeasure to meet."

She snarled at the Viscount in a proud way, but then her eyes pierced through my soul, trying to size me up, "You're the one that fixed the sky."

I smiled at her, "That's what they say."

"Don't care what they say. They tend to say a lot of shit, especially when they are Varric."

Cullen chuckled at Aveline's unimpressed response, "The years have done little to dull you Guard Captain."

"Knight Captain," she said, tipping her head. That drew a blanch from both Cullen and me. We opened our mouths to correct her, but she was ahead of us, "Oh, right, it's Commander now."

"No, just Cullen," he said, extending his hand. Aveline gripped it, shaking it once - the two of them sharing a harried glance I'd seen from other battle hardened soldiers. It was usually given across a decrepit pub before both combatants returned to the drinking.

"They're retired," Varric threw in, then he snapped his fingers, "Oh Bran!"

"Yes, your worship?" he asked, sliding forward from the shadows. I tried to not jump - I all but forgot he remained in the room.

"There's a package in my office, in the medium sized chest - I know you've got a copy of the key. It's for the Inquisitor. Go up and get it."

Bran's narrow eyes slipped over me, then back to his Viscount, "We still have much to discuss about..."

"The quicker you get up there and bring it back to me, the faster we can get through your never ending piles of shit," Varric said.

Bran sighed, "Very well." Accepting defeat as gracefully as he did anything else, he slunk out of the room - shutting the door louder than necessary.

"Varric...?" I asked.

"Just wait," he said, "it's a surprise. Speaking of surprises, what brings you to Kirkwall? Finally get tired of the turnips?"

"Ferelden is more than turnips," Cullen sighed, getting an approving nod from Aveline.

"We're on our way up to Wycome," I said diplomatically, "thought to stop by Kirkwall and say hello."

Varric nodded his head as if he'd been expecting us, then turned to Cullen, "Off to see the in-laws? Hope you brought a big shield."

Breath poured out of Cullen's nose but he smiled through the grimace, "It will be fine."

"Uh huh," Varric said, eyeing up the two of us, "Do they know about your hand, or the fact you lost your arm?"

I chuckled at his wordplay, "The Keeper knows about it...ish."

Cullen snapped to me, his eyes boring through, "I thought you wrote to her."

"I did, I just didn't wait for a response. And I may have been a bit vague about what human marriage technically is..." my fingers worked through each other as I glanced up at him before shrugging. He sighed, his head flopping forward while he pinched at the bridge of his nose. My fingers caressed his cheek, "That isn't the news I'm most concerned telling my mother about." Cullen leaned his face into my hand, the now rarely trimmed beard prickling my fingers.

"The elfy shit," Varric filled in the unsaid words. That was it. How was I going to explain the elfy shit to my Keeper, my clan? Though I did intend to take a bit of enjoyment lording over my mother the true nature of the mage she thought I should fall for instead of the shemlan. Oh, so he's at least got pointy ears and seems to know elvish and the old ways. Well, funny you should say that because he's actually the Dread Wolf - it was his creating the fade that toppled our people. And right now he's planning on destroying the world. Cullen looked like the perfect son-in-law by comparison.

"Then," Aveline said to Cullen, "you are married?"

"Didn't I mention that?" Varric asked.

"No, somehow you missed that part despite the hour long description of the 'upside down elf mirror crap.'"

I tried to peer into my husband's mind. He'd never mentioned this guard captain, though he rarely brought up much of his time in Kirkwall aside from the basics. After Meredith went and turned herself into red lyrium, it'd make sense he'd have to work closely with the guard captain to bring some order to the city.

"We wished to keep it quiet," Cullen said, then muttered to me, "not that it worked well."

"Congratulations. You wear it well," Aveline nodded her head once.

Now the blush rose as Cullen tried to scratch at the back of his head, "I, uh, thank you. And your husband, Donnic, yes? How is he?"

"Up to his knees in bullshit because the Viscount endorsed the lyrium smuggler's trade behind my back," Aveline cursed, whipping her head on Varric.

"They're going to run through the city one way or another. This way, we get our fair cut and can put that money to rebuilding."

"It's wrong, Varric."

"That's probably why it's getting the job done," the least lawful Viscount said, shrugging. It was a good point, but I watched both Guard Captain and ex Knight-Captain work their jaws from the injustice.

The massive door cracked open, and Bran entered, a box stuffed under his arms. Varric clapped his hands together, "You found it! I was afraid you got lost."

Bran dropped the box into his Viscount's hands, then unearthed a kerchief to wipe them off. "There was an unexpected consequence. Were you intending to ever tell me about the bronto in your office or...?"

Varric waved him off, grinning down at the box. Bran shook his head, sharing a moment with Aveline as we all tried to peer down at whatever present had Varric almost skipping about. "Well," he held it out towards me, "open it."

I prodded at the box's top, "This isn't going to be like the key to the city again, is it?"

"Nah, it's much better," he said. "You tried it out, right?"

"Of course not," I said, then winked. Cullen sighed often while playing lookout, though I only got one chain to twitch before it all rusted tight.

I sized up the box, all the more massive in the dwarf's hands. Someone took the time to sand down the edges, removing a chance for splinters. The lid lifted easily to reveal a complex turn of gears and wires winched back along a piece of rosewood. Varric lifted his hand higher so I could reach in to pick it up, the metal crossbeams cold to the touch, but the mechanism to hold the bolts hummed unnaturally warm.

"It's a crossbow!" Varric shouted. "Designed to be one handed courtesy of a mutual friend. She'd been wanting to see if she could go for something more compact. Not as beautiful as Bianca, but few things are."

"Blessed Cr-" I began, then the curse died away, my lips twisting into a frown. Cullen's hand rubbed circles along the small of my back at my stumbling. A crisis of faith wasn't something that came and went like an avalanche, fast and destroying everything in its wake. It kept hitting me in the tiniest moments when my lips would twist to thank or praise a god that - if Solas was to be believed - had enslaved our own people. Regardless, I did what I could to not mention the Evanuris by name if only to keep the Dread Wolf off my scent.

Smiling, I tried again, "Varric, this is - thank you. I don't know what to say."

"Try it on," he said, gesturing to the straps laying in the box. It took a bit of adjusting to get the leather bonds in the right holes, my fingers pausing every few seconds to admire the craftsmanship put into the crossbow. Bianca even took the time to etch a small halla onto both sides of the butt, silver inlays bringing it to life.

Sliding up my sleeve, I hooked the straps around my elbow and shoulder - the crossbow almost slotting perfectly into place around the stump. "Hm, going to need some padding at the butt to cushion and probably a sheep's hide on the shoulder strap."

"Don't forget a belt to hold your bolts," Varric said, his own fingers twanging across the strings as he pointed to the firing mechanism. I'd already pulled back the drawstring, notching it into place to test the tension. It was going to have to be increased a few notches.

"Ooh, good idea," I smiled at him, mentally adding to the shopping list.

My poor husband sighed, his hand working up to massage my shoulder. Varric smiled up at him, "Uh oh, did I shatter the picture of domestic bliss? Break your retirement plans?"

Cullen shifted from the eyes turning on him, but I waved my hand while lifting the crossbow higher. The weight caught me by surprise - I'd need to do much more heavier lifting than I'd done in months to adjust to it. "He's upset this means I won't be taking up the sword instead."

"I am not," Cullen lied poorly.

"Tried to teach me a few times," I stage whispered to Varric.

The dwarf chuckled, "He does know about that time you 'borrowed' Blackwall's and wedged it into a tree? Shit, the damn thing's probably still in the Hinterlands starting a few legends of its own."

Cullen whipped towards me, "You never mentioned that."

I shrugged, my shoulder twisting under its new weight, "This was, what, a few weeks after we moved into Skyhold? I wasn't in a big rush to embarrass myself in front of the strapping Commander."

"That's fair, I suppose," Cullen said, a blush growing around the massive grin on his cheeks.

"It's a shame I can't try this out," I sighed, lining down the sight. Normally, I'd need a few dozen bolts to get it set, but something told me both Bianca and Varric took the time to "test it out." The smell of fresh oil wafted off the gears.

"Funny you should say that," Varric said, tapping his fingers against his chin. "Seems that house of yours, well, someone tipped off to the Red Chain gang that it was abandoned and they've decided to try squatting in it."

"Tipped them off?" Aveline repeated, folding her arms and glaring down at her Viscount.

Varric held his hands out, the picture of innocence, "Now now, the esteemed ruler of Kirkwall would never cavort with men of such lacking character."

"Not unless they had coin you could win off them at cards," Aveline shot back.

Cullen's fingers wandered away from my back as he tried to reach for a sword that was no longer there. "While your offer is an interesting one..." he began, glancing towards me.

But I didn't finish for him, "We did have plans for that house. Plans that wouldn't include filling it with ruffians." I smiled at the flash of 'oh shit' crossing my husband's face.

"Any plans concerning the property will have to be discussed through the proper channels," Bran interrupted.

I turned back at Varric, "Building a refuge for templars trying to break off the chantry yoke, that proper enough?"

"Sounds good to me," the Viscount shrugged. "Guard captain?" She smiled, nodding at Cullen. "Looks like you got out voted, Bran."

"Quite," he grumbled, rolling on his feet.

"But, we can't get all the paperwork, caretakers selected, and other things started without clearing house first," I said, sliding back into Cullen.

"The Kirkwall guard would be more than happy to assist in removing any dangerous criminals within your premises," Aveline said, glaring at Varric as her sentence ended.

The Viscount shrugged, "Come on, you don't want to see the Inquisitor in action?"

Aveline sighed, rolling her eyes up at what seemed to be a losing battle, "I'm grateful Hakwe isn't here."

Varric snorted, "If Hawke were here we'd have vengeful, undead, demon bakers storming up the steps as we speak."

"Bakers?" I asked, digging through the box. A pile of bolts rattled across the wood, all with green tips.

"That was a great Summerday," Varric mused. "Not so much for the massive undead, but the sweet rolls were perfect."

"Because you didn't have to clean up the corpses - neither of you," Aveline muttered.

Cullen stepped in between the two, "It's all a moot point. There's barely any time to adjust to the new crossbow until..."

Three bolts sprang from the end of my wrist, embedding into the wall, rock dust tumbling to the floor - a perfect grouping. The firing mechanism was hair triggered, and the groove held five bolts before I needed to reload, giving me plenty of time to turn any bandits into swiss cheese before the next round. "A small dagger on the side would work well," I said, running my fingers along the edge, "perhaps embedded here so I could whip it out should someone try to flank me."

Smiling, I batted my eyelashes at my husband, reloading the crossbow by feel. Cullen closed his eyes trying to summon a strength within, "Very well, as if I could stop you anyway. But I'm coming with."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I cooed, rising to my toes to press my lips to his. He ran one soft finger down my cheek, his light smile shaking from my boldness. I broke away and turned to Varric, "What about you?"

"Oh no," Bran stepped in, "we cannot have the Viscount chasing after ruffians..."

But Varric already hauled Bianca out of her seat of honor behind his comfy throne. Patting her once, he tipped his head, "Don't worry Bran. I've got the Inquisitor to watch my back. Just like old times, but I can do without the Qunari invasion for once."

"And what about the stacks of patrons waiting for an audience with you?" Bran tried again to assert dominance.

But Varric waved him away, "Give everyone whatever they want and a free kitten. We've got a new crossbow to break in. What are you gonna named it? Every work of art needs a name." He reached around my back, pulling me into a conspiratorial walk towards the door. Cullen fell behind us, nodding once to Bran.

"I was thinking Cariad," I mused, rolling my biceps and savoring the feel of a bow once again in my hand.

"Good choice," Varric said. He reached out to open the door, then paused and turned back, "Well, are you coming or ain't you Aveline?"

"There are things I need to do here," she said, standing straight.

Varric rolled his eyes, "As if that's ever stopped you before."

A terrifying grin cut the guard captain's face. Grabbing onto her own sword, she followed behind us out of the Viscount's keep. No one ever believed that by afternoon's light in an abandoned mansion of Hightown the Inquisitor, her Commander, the Viscount of Kirkwall, and the Guard Captain battled against common thugs - no matter how many times Varric tried to spin it.


	4. Cassandra

To Commander Cullen...No, scratch out the Commander. To Cullen Rutherford. Wait, did he actually take her name? They spoke of it but it could have been another one of their little jokes. Oh, this is too complicated. Just say, To Cullen.

Did you?

I wanted to offer congratulations on your first year of marriage. The binding of your union may not have been under the most auspicious of situations but...who uses auspicious in a congratulations letter? Forget that part. Instead, put down: My hearty greetings to you and your wife. So much has occurred in the year since you two bound your love together in the sight of Andraste. Or...did she even cite vows to the Maker? Does it matter? Never mind, leave that part in. Cullen will know I meant no offense.

I wish I could be there in person to share in the joy and adulations you both deserve, but the chantry keeps me busy on the other side of Thedas wishing to throttle a pair of grand clerics who...Please remove that last part. It is my understanding Varric intended to launch an armada of ships in celebration but was detained after the port authorities noted his confetti was actually Antivan hissing powder, illegal in nearly- I'm getting off topic.

What I wanted to say, what I wish to tell them is, just put down something about how glad I am that they found each other, can bring and share joy for their lives in this cruel world. Maker, after the troubles in Kirkwall, if any man needed someone it was Cullen. He pushed himself so far so fast, scrabbling to find forgiveness and also reparations. A hard ideal to live up to, but one I could respect. And, I suspect, he was the perfect balm for her as well. She molded herself to become something she never wanted to be but knew was needed. They both understand what it is to lose everything in a blink, to cherish what is before you, and to build upon each other. Even when the bleakest days stretched before us, neither turned to harsh words or actions, but clung together bracing for the storm.

No, don't put that exactly. Just give the idea of it, but in flowery language and metaphors. Maybe mention something about loving as long as they live, or wishing to live and love for a long life of love? More poetics and use that curly pen of yours with the scented inks.

Anyway, to end, simply put that I wish them all their years in love, joy, and contentment, and to not trust Varric when he promises he'll come up with an anniversary poem for you. Did you get all that? Good.

Sincerely,

Divine Victoria

No, just put Cassandra.

Maker's breath, this hat itches.


	5. Josephine

Pain, greater than any torment to ever rend my scarred flesh, tore through my guts, up my throat, and splattered behind my eyes. An eternal throbbing puckered from the base of my brain up into my nose. Death was preferable to waking. A nice long slip into the inky blackness never to awaken. Perhaps that was what kicked off uthemra for my people, I could wake and face an ogre of a hangover or simple not bother. I tried to sink down deeper but a coolness rose against my skin, lapping as if some monstrous creature slapped its gargantuan flippers against the seas.

Gritting my teeth, I managed to crack one eye, light searing through the one part of my brain left out of the festivities. Bubbles of pain burst from the attempt. Trying another go at this, I folded my fist and opened both eyes. A massive sword extended just above me, the tip reaching down to bifurcate my midsection and scatter my vengeful bowels. I scrambled, trying to roll out of the way before the giant could finish its job when my brain helplessly threw out the fact the sword was made out of stone. In fact, so was the hand holding it, her eternal eyes peering down at the pool of water I fell asleep in. Probably her pool of water, come to think of it.

More lapping continued beside me, and I twisted to find a dog's head snout deep in the fountain water. His stub of a tail wiggled with every sloppy slurp. The fountain was maybe a half a foot deep at most, water soaking into the back half of the light shift I remembered stripping down to when the heat grew immeasurable from too many bodies or too much drink. I tried to whip my head around to find the proper clothes I began the night with, but I could barely remember this room, or what building I wound up in, and possibly the country.

Somehow, through the desert winds of my throat, I croaked out, "Falon'din emma ghilana." Each syllable of the curse costing me. The dog paused in his drinking to nudge me in the stomach. He wanted pats, and all I needed was a long drink of water. Well, I'd probably done worse. Cupping my hands, I spooned some of the fountain water into my cracked lips. The water slicked down my ragged throat, enough that I could stop before hitting mabari slobber.

Using the dog as leverage, I struggled out of the fountain, the water trying to haul me back to its shallow bed. I remembered the plaza with the moon shining down through orange rooftiles, marble columns stretching high above my head and mosaics beneath my feet. That was during the sober part of the evening.

Benches festooned the area, most piled with people who thought better than spending the rest of the early morning in the fountain. I wished I'd been as wise, or not as drunk. The crisp winter air found its way to my skin through the wet cloth clinging to my backside. Reaching back, I tried to wad it up and wring some off, but that only drew a greater drumming being my temples.

A familiar accent moaned beside the massive wine cask, now hollow, and I limped towards it. Why was I limping? I couldn't remember any major battles of recent note and...oh, right. Someone convinced the Herald of Andraste to climb to the top of a dais, my heretical fingers blaspheming reliefs of the prophet's life, and jump off. That part went fine, it was playing a game of body knots after that got me. I still defeated those Crow twins though, even if I twisted my knee almost to the point of inversion to do it.

Bodies that had been dressed in Antivan finest and were now down to their own underthings rolled in sleep from my boots clanging against the marble floors. No, wait, these weren't my boots. I stopped wearing shoes months ago. Peering closer I realized the boots were far too large, cracking along the inside heels, and on the wrong feet. Someone also took the time to tie flowers in the laces.

Somehow just knowing I had on the wrong shoes caused my body to stumble more, the over abundance of celebration and alcohol tipping my stomach. But I could overcome this, I was the Herald of Andraste and worships don't vomit on their guests floor - unless that's what they're worshiped for, I suppose. Using a statue of Andraste in far less dress than usual as a guide, I slid around the room towards the source of my poisoning.

Tossed across a rug, her head perched upon her arm as if she only intended to nap, lay the host of the hour. She looked almost at peace, mumbling in her dreams upon her side. A painter could have preserved that image for "Lady at Rest," she bore so little results of her own machinations save for the massive lion's head resting upon her hip. Its marble eyes followed me around the room as I tried to get to her.

"Jo..." I tried, my voice slipping out of my grasp. "Jose...Josephine."

Lady Montilyet snorted, my pathetic cry somehow rousing her. A warm eye opened and rolled up to me. "Oh, Inquisitor," her voice as honeyed as ever. "Forgive me," she said, trying to rise. For a moment she paused at the lion's head, then placed it calmly upon the bench behind her. "I did not hear you rise. Can I get you anything? Eggs? I think there might be some of that roast duck remaining."

Gorge rose at the idea of food, and I twisted away, trying to keep it in check. "No," I stuttered, waving my hand towards her, "No, I'm good."

Josephine smiled, wiping down her dress and tutting at a single stain. She looked like she spent the night curled up in bed with a good book, not chasing after a drunk elf and her mabari through the cobbled streets of Antiva City. It had to be blood magic. Especially after the tanner and fish incident. No one walks away from that unscathed.

"Have you seen my sister?" Josephine suddenly asked, the first trace of discomfort crossing her features.

"Over that way," I grunted, pointing in the direction of the drawing room that quickly became the table dancing room.

"What did you think of the wine? Not too brash I hope. The grapes have been atrocious this year," Josephine tutted.

"Wine was a-okay," I said holding my thumb up and trying to not focus on it.

"Excellent," Josephine beamed.

Something nagged at the back of my mind - something other than the throbbing headache. A piece of me was missing. A rather important piece at that. I glanced down at my red shift, cutting just off at the knees. "Do you know where my clothes went?" I asked.

"I am uncertain, we did lose rather a large section of the party when 'visiting' the mayor's estate, but they are likely to appear before the lunch hour. I could have one of the servants send something down in the meantime."

I waved my hand again, not wanting to be a bother. There were more than a few servants sleeping off a hangover beside the Montilyet's. It wasn't my lack of clothing that chewed on my brain, but something else. I stared down at the wrong boots, tapping the toes together in thought.

"What is it?" Josie asked. Somehow she unearthed a clipboard and whetted her quill. My theories on her being a blood mage added another tick to the list.

"I dunno," I shrugged, "just feel like something's missing."

The dog's barking twisted both of us around to the front door. Someone threw it open to divulge the sounds and smells of Antiva City rising for a new day. It also revealed a man silhouetted in the morning light, leaning into the doorway and clutching his head. He stood only in the barest of clothing, a scarf knotted around his neck, a cap perched upon his head, and a pair of white smallclothes with Mr. Inquisitor embroidered upon them in green.

"Oh right," I smiled wide at Cullen stumbling towards his dog, trying to wipe his face clean of a long bacchanalia. "I forgot my husband."

"Commander," Josephine said, her eyes focused on the ceiling above his head. "You have a small statue in your arms."

"I do?" he muttered, looking to the crook of his elbow and spotting the tiny cherub. "I do. I woke in the chantry like this. The sisters started, uh, screaming." He paused and looked down his chest. Marks dribbled in red wax stretched across the pale skin, at first a few were drawn to highlight his scars, but after awhile the wielder began a game of naughts and crosses. Three in total crossed from his stomach up to his chest. I only lost one that I could remember.

"Oh, Maker," Josephine giggled, trying to hide behind her clipboard.

Patting my ex-ambassador on the back, I smiled, "Josephine, you did not overstate the impressive welcome we'd receive in Antiva. This isn't something I'm about to forget in a long time."

She smiled sweetly, dipping in a curtsy. "Wait until you see what we have planned for tomorrow."

Cullen whipped his head up from his loyal dog carrying a soggy pair of pants. "Tomorrow?"


	6. Lavellan

Easing down the stairs, I peered across the scattered remains of a half eaten meal abandoned in a hurry; plates stacked on one end were shoved aside to fit in a crate of empty bottles. My lips twisted from the mess, but I wasn't surprised. Our little home bulged with guests, the mage and templar forced to room their squabble together or spend their nights out in my treehouse in the back woods. No one ever took me up on the offer. It was probably the lack of a roof.

Plans were scribbled across whatever parchment the duo could find; old letters, missives covered in raven droppings, and huh...I turned over my gilded invitation from another lifetime to the Winter Palace now coated in a formula for a healing draught theory. Why did we hold onto this?

Piling up as much of the mess as I could towards the wash basin, I glanced over at the cabinet hissing beside the door. A wedding gift from Madame de Fer, it loomed over anyone who crossed our threshold - the carvings upon the door twisting themselves into a face biting through flesh by tricky candle light. It also whispered at night. I don't know if Vivienne sent us the cursed thing to be cruel or because she assumed only we could handle it. With her, the answer could be both.

Over time I grew used to the evil emanations and intelligible whispers - the kitchen almost felt empty without them. Rather than un-curse it, Cullen and I used it to hold our cleaning supplies and frighten away any unwanted guests. It succeeded at both. What drew my attention were the blankets piled below the cabinet, twisted and bare. Hm...

Yanking my cloak off the peg by the door, I rolled it around my shoulders, pinning it tight with the old eye brooch. Few people recognized it as the symbol of the Inquisition these days. My crossbow dangled off the peg beside it, but I hadn't touched it in months, and even then it was just to keep myself sharp. Honnleath had a way of not dulling the senses, but easing me to an unexpected serenity - like throwing on a blanket and curling up by the fire, preferably while someone rubbed my feet and whispered in my ear.

Rather than exit out the front door, partially ajar from a mage staff lobbed in the way while the two bickered on the front stoop, I twisted around the hearth to head out the back. Summer winds tumbled the smell of honeysuckle and fresh cut hay across the remaining grass. In the distance I heard a noise that was not an axe meeting against wood - as I'd suspected. Stepping off the stairs, my bare feet slipped through the grass, barely noticing the occasional rock and jut of tree root. After a few years of playing Inquisitor, I finally got my dalish sole back.

Before pursuing the sound, I stopped to inspect my garden. Rows of beans curled up the trellis I bowed out of wood recovered from my trips through the woods. They came in nicely, more than a handful ready to be twisted off the stems. The greater problem were the squash, their prickly vines crawling out of the small patch of dirt and into the next plot over. It was supposed to hold winter wheat in the coming change, but the invading zucchini were having none of that. I'd never planted a seed before, not one that didn't have a dozen other gardeners at Skyhold watching over it like a hawk. Even then, all it produced was another tuft of elfroot to dump into a healing elixir. But, when we moved in, Mia gifted me a small box filled with some of her best seeds. More curious than anything, I planted one in a patch of dirt beside the steps and waited.

It nearly drew Cullen mad waking every morning alone only to find me squatting out in the dirt tending to the little thing, weeding it, feeding it, and - on occasion - talking to it. When it sprouted a leaf I glowed proud, almost as proud as when I'd closed the breach. It was another two weeks before I returned from the market to find my husband hoeing up a patch of weeds, sweat pouring off his naked and still pale white back, gifting me my first true garden.

That first year of harvest anyone who visited had to try every single vegetable I raised from a tiny seed. Cassandra was polite about it, her requisite guards less so as they moaned through a third round of barley soup. The rare time the Chargers passed by, Krem kindly passed out the piles of fresh fall harvest to the others. It was Bull who grunted, sniffing the vegetable, "What's this?"

"It's a squash, chief."

"So you squash it then?" Bull laughed, then proceeded to do just that. Yellow flesh and seeds dripping down his face he asked where the hell the meat was.

Thom surprised me the most, lapping up every bean we had and asking if he could take a few dried bags with him. Apparently, vegetables were hard to come by on the road and he missed it. To think, the once proud dalish hunter turned Herald, then Inquisitor, found peace in the dirt, in settling down and tending to the land. It's the last thing I'd have ever expected, but everything I wanted.

A yelp echoed from deeper down the hill, drawing my attention. I rose from my tomato plants, dusting off the dirt on my knees and spotted the wood axe sitting forlornly beside the empty pile someone claimed he was filling. Hefting it up in my hand, I leaned the head against my shoulder - the warm metal burning through my light shift - and began the walk down the slope.

More yelping punctuated the air and, after a few careful sliding steps, I spotted the source. Cullen lay stretched out upon the grass, one arm thrown over his face to shield his eyes while four of the pups squirmed on top. Little nails dug into his shirt, their entire backsides wagging in joy, as they tried to climb onto him. Silently, he'd drop a hand down and lift one up until it sat upon his chest, the tiny, pink tongue lapping across his chin. But the joy was too much, the little body unable to adjust for the wag's force, and the pup would slide off Cullen's chest, plopping onto the ground to give another one a chance.

At his shoes, the two tan pups wrestled for dominance over a loose shoestring. Snarling and yipping as if facing down their own archdemon, the runt snatched the lace up in her jaws and tried to run for it - only to have the slack catch, yanking her back into Cullen's shoes. She was dazed for a moment before one of her brothers rolled on top, the game begun anew.

The last pup sat in the grass, facing down a mighty butterfly demon. She squared up her tiny shoulders, twisted her legs to face it, and barked out a pathetic squeak. Her prey only flitted to the next flower, giving her a chance to try again.

"So," I said, wiping the smile off my face, "this is chopping wood."

Cullen struggled to sit up, catching one of the pups in his hand as he rose. His hair was a complete mess, flayed at the edges and wadded with grass, his shirt pocked with tiny muddy paw prints, while a ruddiness from the sun or being caught burned his cheeks. I'd never seen him so handsome.

Hauling the axe off my shoulder, the head smashed to the ground, "You forgot this."

"Ah, we were doing a little training exercise on this fine morning," Cullen said, rising off the ground. Having lost their toy, the pups took to chewing on each other - their newly grown knife-like teeth shredding through their siblings.

"They're only five weeks old," I said, watching limbs that just mastered walking a week ago forget that fact and splay out. Our runt picked up speed, chasing after her kin, but misjudged the distance and splattered against him, both tumbling in the grass.

"You can teach a mabarai as young as four weeks," Cullen said. He clapped his hands once, gaining the curious stare of a few sloe back eyes. Mastering the power he once wielded across armies of men, he commanded the puppies attention. "Sit!"

Four butts slapped to the ground, their heads tilting from concentrating so hard. Cullen shifted to the holdouts, his amber eyes narrowing until they too stopped playing, their own backsides plopping to the dirt. He turned to me, a grin stretching his cheeks as if he'd once again commanded our forces to save Thedas. The proud papa of the puppy army wandered out of the creek, the fur streaked in mud and clay - a stick jammed in his mouth. For a moment, he paused beside his master, the tongue lolling below his stick. "Don't..." Cullen started, but it was too late. The dog twisted his skin, splattering Cullen and all the pups with the dredges of the river.

I cracked up at my husband trying to escape the spray, some very un-Andrastian cursing escaping his lips. Pointing to the dog, I said, "And some you can never teach." Cullen wiped at the mud splattered onto his nose, but sighed, chuckling softly from the rescued mabari who loved life and didn't care much for that learning bit.

One of the pups disentangled from the rest and toddled towards me, her ears flopping in the stumbling run. Her fur was the same dark, almost blue of her father's save a lone tan point upon her back. "Da'assan," I cooed, scooping up the puppy in my hand. Her entire lower half wiggled in excitement as I held her to my chest, her paws trying to scrabble up my shirt.

Cullen smiled, his own fingers scritching behind his dog's head. "I received another request for a pup," he said.

"Who is it now?" I sighed.

"The teryn of Highever," he said, tipping his head as if that must be someone important.

"I'm going to gut whoever told the nobility we had a litter," I muttered, then bit down a giggle from my little arrow's sandpaper tongue lapping across my stump.

"A war hound from the Inquisitor, it's bragging rights across the court now. Both of them." We'd been getting messages, ravens, even one strange man in bright green tights who sang his lord's request for over two weeks. They came not only from across Ferelden, but Orlais and even beyond. One Antivan Crow claimed if we gave him enough time he could train a pup to become an assassin. It was getting pathetic.

"Nope," I shook my head, "too bad. They're all spoken for. Isn't that right, da'assan?" My little arrow yelped from the name, a small knot of pink rope around her neck to mark her - not that I needed it. I knew all the pups from their paw prints by now. "How's Cassandra's coming along?"

Cullen turned back to the only pup with almost all black fur, regally sitting apart from his siblings until one got too close. He'd bark once, chasing the rascal away, to return to his vigil over the countryside. "Certain to terrify the chantry," he smiled, nodding at the puppy.

"I imagine a lot of grand clerics will light candles until he's house trained," I chuckled. The pups were reaching the age where keeping them outdoors as long as possible was preferable to dealing with the constant mess, which was normally something I'd do while in the garden or taking a trip around Honnleath. The children in town adored the painted elf with the puppies in tow.

Da'assan wiggled in my hands, wanting to be free to run. I leaned down, dropping her to the grass. Her legs were already dancing in my hand, and once they made contact she plowed through her father's legs. Smiling, I reached out, running my fingers up my husband's arm.

Cullen held onto my hand, then dipped down so I could slide it along his shoulder. I gripped tight to him finding a softness below his shirt that over time replaced the twisted muscle no longer wound up in worry. Not as worried, at least. If he didn't find something to concern himself over, he'd worry about that. Growing old, if this was what the creation of the veil doomed us to, didn't seem so bad. I could get used to retired life.

His lips pressed against my forehead, the touch cooler than the rising heat of day. So many battles, so many nights gripping tight to the last thread of life, watching as people sacrificed themselves for my sake, for my name, my cause. I didn't walk away from it unscathed, none of us did, but to come out from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, a prisoner and criminal to this...

"Ar lath ma," I muttered, kissing his cheek and savoring the return of the stubble after an unfortunate lost bet to shave it all off.

Cullen blinked, "Elvish? You haven't used that in awhile."

"I'm feeling nostalgic, I suppose," I said.

He twisted me around, wrapping his hands behind the small of my back. How easily his arms fit where my hips dipped in to meet my ribcage. Human and elf were supposed to be ever at odds, but we slipped together in a strange harmony, his strong arms binding over my bony body.

"Well," Cullen pivoted his head behind us, "Our house is full of researchers..."

I grumbled, not really upset but wishing they didn't have to be there at the moment. It seemed like every chance we were alone, some other crisis arouse begging for the retired Inquisitor and her commander to solve. Apparently, all the rest of the heroes in Thedas called in sick.

"Someone needs to teach them how to clear their dishes," I said, remembering the mess waiting back there on the table.

He grimaced, "That was probably my doing."

"Dish fairies aren't real, you know," I said, even as I kissed his lips, feeling them pucker below me into a chuckle.

"I was thinking..." my husband said, his fingers circling around my back, "if you're really in a nostalgic mood - we do have a treehouse back in the woods where no one else bothers to go."

"Why, Mr. Lavellan, are you implying we do something untoward in the forest by late morning's light?"

"There was little implying," he whispered, his breath dancing near my ear. A sigh rumbled from deep in my throat and I turned, catching his lips in surprise. The light peck shifted deeper, more pronounced, as he pulled me ever tighter to him. My lips wrapped around his bottom one, softly sucking on it, "I take it you're intrigued by my proposition?" he asked, breaking away.

"Maker, yes!" I cried, running my fingers through his hair, ruffling it worse than the pups ever could. He dipped down, and - in a surprise move - caught my legs up in his arms. With my own gripping to his shoulders, he carried me like I needed rescuing, my head slipping back in laughter.

"What about the puppies?" I asked, waving my head towards our little charges.

Cullen twisted towards his dog and ordered, "You, watch your children." The mabari stood at attention, his tongue lolling, but I'd swear that dog could salute sometimes. Having given his command, Cullen turned to head towards the pocket of woods I obsessively tended.

"You can't be serious?" I giggled. The researchers were here at his whim, he couldn't be planning on abandoning them now.

Cullen growled in my ear, "I'm always serious." His voice dropped so low, goosepimples broke through my skin. Leaning forward in his arms, I managed a quick peck on his lips, his hands tightening the grip upon me. My serious ex-Templar turned towards the copse of trees leeching out from the forest into our little grassland.

Above our heads, a lone black dot circled in the air. I tried to point to it, but had to grip back onto his shoulder. He twisted around, watching the bird swoop down out of the sky towards the front of our home.

"A raven," he sighed.

"It could just be a black bird," I said, snuggling tighter to him. "One that got lost or is avoiding a hawk, or that mage is feeding. Certainly not something that needs our immediate attention."

Even as his eyes traced the path of the raven more than likely landing upon our perch, he smiled, bringing his forehead to mine, our noses softly bouncing off each other. All the cares of Thedas washed away as he turned us back towards the woods when a shadow blotted out the sun.

Together we both craned our necks up to watch fifteen to twenty ravens flying in an unnatural formation towards our house. They flapped with such ferocity ebony feathers tumbled from the sky, one landing beside the puppies who had to fight over it. Speckles of color dotted the bird's legs; reds, greens, blues, yellows - bands given to our allies raised wherever would could find them.

Dread washed up my legs, raising every alarm I thought I'd managed to forget over the years. "They found him," I whispered.

Cullen dropped my legs to the ground, the stern countenance returning with the ravens of war. Some nights I could almost forget, pretend that I was free to whittle away the rest of my days as a part time farmer and nurse with my husband. But then I'd twist over and see my stump, a gift from Solas and a warning from Fen'Harel.

Live well in the years remaining. Those were his parting words, and - with help from my friends, family, and the man I couldn't imagine living without - I'd done just that. That was Lavellan, the silly painted elf with one hand who told wild tales, made a mean venison stew, and kept the woods around Honnleath surprisingly bandit and darkspawn free. But the world didn't need her anymore. There were just as many others eking out their days in comfort and happiness, about to have all they knew come crashing down in another end of days unless someone intervened.

Heroes are made, not born, I can't remember who told me that, but it doesn't feel right. Heroes aren't crafted, they aren't honed in blood and war, rising to the ranks to command armies of the faithful. They're people - elves, humans, dwarves, qunari - who stand up one day to fight for what's right, no matter the cost.

Cullen squeezed my shoulders, tighter than he had in years. Maker only knew what awaited us within those raven's messages, but we couldn't turn our backs on it either. Rising to my toes, I steadied my fingers upon his cheek and kissed his lips with a promise no matter what happened I'd do all I could to return to him. It was one I'd made times un-counting. He closed his eyes, his forehead meeting mine in one final moment. When he rose back up, the sheen of command glinted off him - invisible armor in place.

I may not have created Solas, in some ways my stopping Corypheus stopped his plans - or stunted them at least. And it almost seemed unfair to throw away what I had just to chase down the man who didn't want to be a god yet had to change the world, but that's the thing about heroes - they don't worry about what's fair. They just worry about what's right.

That day, the Inquisitor was reborn.

THE END

I need to take this space to thank LadyGoat, without her request for some good Lavellan/Cullen fic these 90K+ words wouldn't exist. And to TheGwenninator who cheered me on as well as all the little reviews and kudos here and there from my awesome readers. All of that kept me going through the dark places and into the light. But screw the Deep Roads, you can't make me go back in there!

Thank you all!

See you in Tevinter.


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